Dead Flowers And A Dry Vase
by Rasiaa
Summary: ...cracked against the wall, signifying the end of time. But then, wasn't it over before that?


It was too common, to fall in love. It seemed so tacky, so unoriginal. But that's what this was, wasn't it? It was love. All consuming, unmerciful, painful, wonderful, amazing, all at once, it rushed through his veins and fogged up his mind, taking him over like a parasite. It was like being high, and being at the lowest point of depression at the same time. It was loneliness and accompaniment, desolation and fulfillment.

He should have known better, all those years ago. He should have known that it would never last. The pain would outweigh the joy; the happiness and love would disappear. But when a fourteen-year-old falls in love, they don't think about the consequences. He should have.

…

The vase was something that he had bought when they first moved in together three years ago, right out of Hogwarts. It had been home to roses that had long since wilted, but they had kept the dead flowers and the dry, useless vase on the table by the door. It was a silly little thing, something other people might have thrown away after it ran its course. But it meant more than that. It was the start of something wonderful that was supposed to last until they died. It was the first thing they owned together, aside from the apartment itself. The vase and dead flowers had meaning.

But as they stood in the increasingly unused apartment, with Sirius in front of the closed front door and Remus in the entryway to the small, cramped kitchen, screaming and fighting again, the flowers lost their meaning. The apartment lost meaning- the torn up old crochet couch, the mismatched chairs, the coffee table that had their drawings and love notes drawn onto it with a Sharpie pen to Sirius' right. The tired, worn dining room set with scratches and a couple of screws loose from too many nights of love. The four plate sets they owned because they usually kept breaking for various reasons, the three cups in the apartment because the others all vanished somewhere, the bed down the hallway and the brand new bedside tables, Remus' mother's well-loved bureau- it all lost meaning. None of it mattered anymore.

"How can I expect you to understand what it's like to go out there, week after week, month after month, on Dumbledore's orders, and come home to find that I'm suspected of being the spy, the traitor? To expect, at the very least, for you to kiss me like you used to, but be given the cold shoulder and arguments that I don't want to partake in, that are useless, that are breaking us apart…?" Remus screamed, moving away from the counter that separated the dining room- really it was the widened hallway in front of the door, next to the living room, but details never matter- from the kitchen to stand on the edge of the living room.

He didn't expect to be in pain a moment later. He didn't expect the sound of breaking glass, nor the blood entering his eyes. He certainly didn't expect the soft thud of flowers hitting a wooden floor and the louder crash of a body falling into a wall. His body- because he staggered from the impact of the glass hitting his head harshly, and the glass beneath his feet that was soon accompanied by blood.

Sirius had thrown the vase.

The other man seemed to come to his senses, realize what he had done, because he rushed over a second later, dozens of empty words falling from his lips that Remus might once have believed. Words like 'I love you' and 'I'm so sorry' and 'What have I done?' that a younger, less naïve Remus would have fallen for immediately, giving up and giving in, like always. But the words, like the apartment, like the flowers, like the vase, held no meaning, no power, no emotion.

They didn't matter anymore.

The realization washed over Remus like a tidal wave, silencing any protests he might have had at Sirius' fussing, coiling around his spine and leaving a trail of freezing cold, unconcealed _pain_ in its place.

When Sirius tried to lift him from the floor, Remus staggered, a mixture of grief and blood loss causing his head to start swimming. His vision darkened, the blood falling into his amber eyes, and through the haze, Remus managed to wonder if he had a concussion. The thought was so out of place with everything that he just began to laugh, unhinged and free, like he had never been before. It wasn't even funny, no, nothing about the situation was funny at all, but at the same time it was, it _was_, it was just so damn hilarious because he should have known, _should have known_, should have known back then, back then when this affair began, when it began that it wouldn't last, because how could it, the war was present even then and oh, dear God…

"Remus? Remus? _Remus_? You can't lose it _now_, Remus! What is wrong with you? Snap out of it; wake up! Come on, Rem, you can't lose it now…"

Countless more apologies and countless more empty words. There would be no more promises, though. Remus knew better than to expect an injury to make Sirius believe in him again like he used to. No more promises to keep, no more to break. They were all broken; they were all spoiled and tainted by lies and mistrust.

It was not worth fighting for anymore. Remus had prayed, every night, to a God he didn't believe in, desperately hoping that someday, he would be worth the fight. He was always wrong. Always wrong.

…

He had no idea how he had wound up bandaged and in their bed, healed for the most part. Sirius' side of the bed was empty and cold, but that was nothing new. He closed his eyes for a moment, his insides rocking and making him nauseous. It didn't pass, but he ignored it and got out of the bed anyway. It creaked as it was relieved of his weight, something else he had gotten used to. Two steps across the room found him at the door, which he opened silently and closed behind him as he left the bedroom.

The apartment was empty, but it couldn't have been long ago that their fight had taken place. The bandages were on the counter in the kitchen, and the cabinets where they were kept- beneath the sink- were still open. As he made his way out further into the apartment, he saw the bloody glass was still on the floor. The vase and dead flowers were gone, broken in a fit of anger and hatred when they had been the only things left, really. Remus felt his heart break slightly, and his eyes began to sting. He didn't cry, though.

He should have seen it coming, after all.

…

Four hours, he waited, sitting at the dining room table. He was running his fingers over the scratch marks, remembering when each one was made. After a year of living together, their frequent and unexpected lovemaking stopped, and after that it was usually just quickies before bed, or before a mission or something else. Like everything else, it didn't matter. Not like it used to.

He had gotten the red wine out a while ago, and their really nice, mostly unused wine glasses from the top cabinet. He had finished two drinks in the past four hours, while Sirius' drink had remained untouched for that entire time. Remus wasn't worried, however. Sirius had nowhere else to go in the world, since James, Lily and Harry had gone into hiding two months ago and Peter still lived with his mother. He would come back eventually.

And he did. The door creaked open slowly, and Remus could smell the guilt rolling off the other in waves. His own amber eyes snapped up to meet Sirius' own gray ones, and he didn't let Sirius speak. He glanced down at the table, then let his eyes travel slowly around to the living room, taking in everything- the peeling paint, the worn furniture that really needed to be replaced, the bloody glass and broken flowers. Then he looked at Sirius again and asked, "When was the last time we just dropped everything and made love on the nearest available surface?" He took great pleasure in the dumbfounded look on his lover's face, and answered the question with a swish of his wine glass. "Two years ago. When was the last time we actually shared the bed at the same time? Eight months ago. When was the last time we just sat down together and talked of everything and nothing at all? About a year ago. When did you trust me last?" Remus allowed a few moments of silence for that question, then answered himself once more, "At the end of our seventh year, three years ago. How does that feel, Sirius, to know that we might as well be strangers now?"

Silence. It stretched out for a long time, and Sirius didn't move from his place in the doorway. Remus just sat still and watched him. When ten minutes passed with no response, Remus began to speak again, "Was everything we fought for in the beginning for nothing? Did we mean nothing to you? Because it sure as hell meant something to me."

Sirius moved at last, and shut the door behind him without removing his hands from behind his back and without looking away from Remus. He walked forward and sat in the chair across from Remus, still silent. Then he placed a vase full of flowers on the table, all of them in bloom and looking just like the ones that had once rested on the table by the door, three years ago. "I'm sorry," was all Sirius said, and something inside Remus snapped viciously.

"You're sorry?" he demanded, suddenly furious. "You're sorry? What for, Sirius? For throwing the vase at me earlier, or for something else?"

Though his tirade was short, it was so draining. Remus put the glass on the table in front of him and allowed his head to fall forward. The tears that had been coming for what seemed like forever came in a rush, and he cried into the table silently, hating everything in the apartment, including the flowers, the vase, Sirius, and himself.

Himself most of all. He felt a light touch on his arm, and he looked up to see Sirius standing above him, his expression somewhere between pain and grief. The same in essence, really. "What?" he questioned, his voice rough.

Sirius hesitated. Then, "This can't be over…can it?"

Remus blinked at him. "What can't be over?" he asked, not understanding.

Another silence, shorter, that time. "The Marauders. Us."

He felt like the wind had been knocked from his lungs. He waited for a minute before replying. "Yes, Sirius. I think it _is_ over. It has been over for a while. Graduating was the beginning of the end." He paused, and reconsidered, "Maybe meeting each other was the beginning of the end."

He felt the other recoil. "You regret it?" Sirius whispered, clearly shocked.

"I could never regret it, Sirius."

…

Being in love was so painful, and at the same time, it was the best feeling in the world.

He should have known it wouldn't last long, that it wouldn't be forever.

He should have known the Marauders would break eventually, since it was only a matter of time.

They were destroying each other little by little without even realizing it until it was too late. But perhaps, Remus wondered, by destroying each other, they delayed each other's inevitable self-destruction. By taking a part of each other and breaking it slowly, they saved each other from dying too soon, from a darker depression that would have started in their school days. Only so much time could be bought from Father Time- their unwinding was unavoidable.

It was nice while it lasted.

And perhaps that was what hurt most of all- it lasted so long, so much longer than any of them expected, ever. It hurt that, just when their hope was restored subconsciously that maybe, maybe they wouldn't have to lose, they lost anyway, and in a much crueler way than it would have happened without the reprieve of kindness, laughter, hope, love, friendship, and time together…

…Suicide might have been kinder, in the end.

But then Mischief wouldn't have been Managed, would it?

* * *

_I torture myself, writing things like this. R&amp;R, please.  
_


End file.
